


had a little time (you had a little fun)

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andrés is a bastard man, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Minor Violence, Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: “You and Palermo,” Manila says simply. “What’s going on?”Andrés smiles placidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Don’t you?” she asks, matching him with her own smile. “Because you’ve been staring daggers at the guy he’s dancing with all night.”“That’s your view of the situation,” he says, smile still fixed on his face. “I simply find such public displays of sexual gratification distasteful.”In which the gang go clubbing and Andrés is absolutely not jealous
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Palermo | Martin Berrote & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 107





	had a little time (you had a little fun)

**Author's Note:**

> okay idk what this is but i blame aleks
> 
> TWs: drinking, blood, canon typical violence, mild sexual content, biting (i guess idk it's not graphic), andrés being canon-typically dickish
> 
> fic title from the beautiful south song 'a little time'

“Jesus, are they going to fuck right there on the dancefloor?” Nairobi asks and Andrés looks away from his conversation with Raquel to follow her line of sight.

He tuts in displeasure when he sees Martín, dressed in sinfully tight jeans and a shirt that might as well have come without buttons considering how few of them are being used, dancing with another man. The guy is tall, taller than Martín certainly, and has a possessive arm curled around him as they grind together. A few feet away, Tokyo is dancing with Stockholm, Helsinki and Rio, Denver clearly having disappeared to the bar or something.

“Apparently,” he comments, taking a sip of wine.

Manila appears, looking tired but happy from her time on the dancefloor, flopping into the booth next to Sergio, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere other than an extortionately expensive private club in Bangkok.

“What are you all staring at?” she asks when she’s drained more than half of her drink.

Nairobi jerks her head in the direction of the dancefloor. “We’re trying to decide whether or not Palermo and that random guy are going to fuck.”

“I’m not,” Sergio says miserably.

Raquel pats his arm consolingly and then grins wickedly. “Five-hundred euros says they disappear and go to a hotel within the next half hour.”

“You’re on, but I think they’ll be heading to the bathrooms,” Nairobi says, pulling a wad of notes from inside her dress.

Manila shakes her head at both of them and adds her own bundle of cash. “No dice, I don’t think they’re going to hook up. He’s not Palermo’s type.”

“I think you’ll find Palermo’s type is anything with legs,” Andrés says coolly and Manila sticks her tongue out at him.

“Speaking from experience, are we?” Nairobi asks and Andrés stares her down, ignoring Sergio’s tired sigh.

“Well, I have known him for nearly fifteen years,” he eventually says and Nairobi rolls her eyes. “The bathrooms are a safe bet, I’ve seen him take men into worse places.”

“You want to put your money where your mouth is?” Raquel challenges and Andrés sighs, but acquiesces, pulling a few notes from his money clip to add to the pot.

Nairobi grins and looks at Sergio. “Professor? Do you want to bet too?”

Sergio shakes his head. “The further away I can stay from this, the better,” he says, glancing over at Andrés.

Andrés tilts his head questioningly at his brother, who looks away quickly, taking an overlarge gulp of the whiskey Raquel had bought him. Manila suddenly groans, scowling over at where Andrés had last seen Martín. Everyone at the table turns to look and Andrés’ jaw clenches when he sees Martín now locked in a sloppy kiss with his dance partner.

He feels his lip curl involuntarily as he watches the man back Martín against one of the faux marble pillars, one hand pressed against his chest, thumb digging into the hollow of Martín’s throat.

“I told you,” he says coldly, turning back to the others. “If this place were marginally sleazier, Martín would probably let the man fuck him right there.”

It’s like everyone at the table tenses, taken aback by the viciousness of his tone. Sergio is still avoiding eye contact with him and both Raquel and Nairobi look shocked, but Manila is looking at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Berlin,” she says suddenly. “Come and get a drink with me?”

He scowls at her. “Why? We have table service.”

She flashes a plastic looking smile at him. “Because I want to make the bartender jealous. Now, will you come with me or should I find Denver and get him to do it?”

Andrés smirks. “How on earth would Denver make anyone jealous?”

“Berlin,” she says warningly and he rolls his eyes and stands.

“Fine.”

He offers her an arm that he’s sure she doesn’t need as they descend the stairs from the raised platform the booths are on. Manila towers next to him in her heels, but she accepts his arm anyway and keeps them linked together once they’ve traversed the steps.

She’s a good-looking woman, especially in the slinky gold dress she’s wearing tonight and he’s aware of more than a few appreciative glances as they pick their way through the dancing crowd. Stockholm waves at them when they pass and Tokyo makes a lewd hand movement and gestures at Martín who is still pressed up against the pillar. Andrés is only stopped from smacking Tokyo by Manila’s death grip on his arm, her nails digging painfully into his skin even through the thick brocade of his jacket.

She steers them towards the bar and then gestures for him to take a seat on one of the high, straight-backed stools.

“We’ll take two whiskeys,” she tells the attractive bartender without even looking at him, her gaze focussed on Andrés.

“What?” he asks her, when their drinks have arrived and she’s still staring without having spoken.

The corner of her mouth twitches and she takes a sip of her whiskey. “You and Palermo,” she says simply. “What’s going on?”

He smiles placidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” she asks, matching him with her own smile. “Because you’ve been staring daggers at the guy he’s dancing with all night.”

“That’s your view of the situation,” he says, smile still fixed on his face, even though any amusement he’d felt at her request that he accompany her to the bar has long faded. “I simply find such public displays of sexual gratification distasteful.”

Manila actually laughs at that – loudly enough that she can be heard over the bass heavy music and a couple of people turn around to stare.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says when he scowls at her. “You were being serious.”

“Of course I was.”

She nods. “Right, sure. So if it were you out there dancing –“

“I don’t dance like that,” Andrés interrupts and she glares.

“As I was saying,” she continues pointedly. “You’re saying that if were you there with Palermo, him pressed against the pillar, you pressed against him, his arms around your neck, your mouth on his, that you wouldn’t enjoy it?”

Andrés stares at her, and shifts a little on his stool, something that doesn’t escape her notice, judging by the way her eyes flick down and she smirks. He drinks, feeling the condensation on his glass against his fingers and swallows hard. He thinks of all the times he and Martín have invaded each other’s space, close enough for Andrés to smell the cologne he pretends not to notice Martín stealing, close enough to feel the heat from his body. Close enough to touch and yet there was always a distance between them, one that had become insurmountable since the last time he had Martín’s mouth on his.

“Is there a point to this little exercise?” he demands, trying in vain to not let his thoughts show on his face.

“Yes,” Manila says, leaning forward in her chair and he purposely lets his gaze trail down to the neckline of her dress. “Why the fuck is he out there with that guy, when we both know he’d rather be with you?”

Andrés blinks, recoiling a little from the intensity in her voice. “Excuse me?”

She sighs, expression earnest. “He’s in love with you. Everyone knows it – hell, the police probably know and they’re all incompetent idiots.” His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together, but he doesn’t interrupt so she continues. “But what not everyone knows, is that you love him too. I know what happened before the first heist, Berlin, he told me, and I hate to say it, but you’re not a terribly good actor. The others aren’t looking for it, but I am and I see how you are with him.”

“So what?” he spits. “You think you know something and you’ve told me, so now what?”

Manila refuses to be intimidated by him. “Now, you stop being a coward and go do something about it.”

 _You’re a coward, huh?_ Martín had said that too, right before they ruined each other maybe irrevocably. Andrés looks over his shoulder at the dance floor and sees that Martín has finally detached himself enough from the guy for them both to be able to walk. He watches the two of them, still plastered close together, move towards the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and the smoking area. A hard pinch to his thigh brings him back to himself.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Manila shouts. “You have nothing to lose, now go before he lets that guy fuck his brains out and he forgets about you for the next while.”

Andrés gets to his feet on stiff legs and stalks past Manila and towards the hallway Martín and his handsome distraction had disappeared down. On his way along the bar, he palms a corkscrew – just in case.

He catches up to them in time to see Martín make a hand gesture that Andrés knows to mean he’s going for a smoke. His partner shakes his head and points towards the stairs, leading to the bathrooms. Martín smirks, presses a kiss the guy’s cheek and walks through the heavy curtains separating the smoking terrace from the rest of the club.

Andrés watches him go and then follows the other man down the stairs to the bathrooms. There’s a sharp corner and a door that says ‘Staff Only’ just before the male bathrooms and Andrés, who had always resented Denver’s implications that he wasn’t up to a physical fight, grabs the guys and shoves him through the door before he knows what’s going on.

The guy is drunk, incredibly so, and maybe high on something too, the pupils of his light brown eyes blown wide as he stumbles backwards into what turns out to be a cleaning closet. He tries to duck Andrés’ first punch, but he’s too inebriated to be fast enough and Andrés’ fist connects with his mouth with a satisfying crunch.

“What?” the guy chokes in accented English and Andrés punches him again, wincing when he feels his knuckles split against the man’s teeth.

He takes advantage of the man’s confusion to pull the corkscrew from his pocket. It’s good quality, stainless steel with a wickedly sharp point and he presses it to the man’s throat, hard enough for a little bit of blood to start trickling down his skin.

The man coughs, starting panic and Andrés ignores him, speaking loudly over his harsh breathing.

“The man you were dancing with? He’s off limits, understood? I’m going to let you go and you’re going to leave this club immediately or we’ll find out just how sharp this corkscrew is,” he says, keeping his voice even, curling his lip in disgust as the man snivels. “Understood?” he repeats.

“Yes!” the man says, trying to nod without lodging the corkscrew deeper into his throat.

Andrés smiles widely at him. “Good.”

He releases the man, who wheezes and wipes at the blood pouring from his mouth. Andrés puts the corkscrew back in his pocket and straightens his suit jacket before stepping out of the closet, the hallway is thankfully deserted and Andrés watches the man stumble up the stairs and back towards the main club before he walks up himself.

His timing is excellent. Just as he reaches the top step, Martín emerges from the smoking area, looking less sweaty than he did earlier.

“Andrés,” he says, sounding surprised. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. Have you seen Elias?”

Andrés smirks. “Is that what your… friend was called? Well, I’m afraid Elias had to leave.”

Martín’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

Andrés steps closer, close enough that he can smell the cheap tobacco Martín had been smoking and the faint fruitiness of the cocktails he’d been downing since they got to the club.

“I just asked him, in a very friendly way, to stay away from what’s mine.”

Martín’s breath catches. “Yours?” he whispers and it’s only because of their proximity that Andrés can hear him over the thumping bass that’s vibrating all the way through the building. “I believe you’ve missed a step, Andrés”

“You’re right,” Andrés tells him, leaning in to speak directly into Martín’s ear. “You were right then and you’re right now. I’ve missed a step, but I’ve watched you and him all night and I really, really don’t have patience to wait for you to sober up and talk this all out with me.”

He pulls back and finds Martín staring at him with wide eyes, face flushed and lips parted just a little. Then he smiles, more openly than Andrés has seen in years, less guarded and it makes him seem both younger and more mature at the same time. One of Martín’s hands comes up to cup the side of Andrés’ face and he digs his nails into the stubbly skin of Andrés’ jaw just hard enough to make him hiss.

“Promise me you aren’t lying, or trying manipulate me. Promise me this isn’t a one-time thing that you’re going to try and make go away tomorrow,” Martín demands, eyes just unfocussed enough to make him look desperate.

Andrés smiles despite the sharp pain in his face and the way his hand his starting to throb. “I promise. I don’t threaten strangers in storage cupboards for just anyone, you know.”

Martín makes a sound halfway between a growl and a laugh and Andrés kisses him because he can’t not for a moment longer. Martín tastes a little too much like menthol cigarettes and pineapple juice, but Andrés ignores that in favour of chasing the heat that every one of Martín’s touches sends racing through his body.

He moves, barely aware of it, until he has Martín pinned against the wall and moves his mouth down to his neck, tasting the sweat on his skin and making him writhe and moan Andrés’ name.

“Fuck,” Martín pants, pulling Andrés’ head up to be able to look at him. “We are not doing this in a fucking hallway. Three people have walked past already.”

Andrés hadn’t even noticed, but he does find the way they’re stood right next to a flight of stairs unfortunate.

“Bathroom?” he asks and Martín shakes his head.

“There’s an attendant,” he says and Andrés rolls his eyes.

He grabs Martín’s hand and leads him down the stairs. “I’ll take care of it.”

The walk down the hallway, past the storage cupboard Andrés was in only a few minutes ago, and to the bathrooms. The men’s bathroom is all dark marble and brass fittings. Sure enough, there’s an attendant stood next to the sink, who smiles at them when they enter. Andrés tries to ignore the way Martín is pressed up against his back as he looks around and sees all the stalls are unoccupied.

He digs his money clip out of his pocket and walks over to the attendant. “I’ll give you twenty thousand baht if you stand outside the door and tell people the bathroom’s out of order.”

The attendant looks between Andrés, Martín, and the money being held out to him and nods.

“Very good, sir,” he says, taking the money and tucking it into his waistcoat in a practised move.

He slips past them and out the door which Andrés locks behind him just to be safe. When he turns around, Martín is sitting on the marble counter next to the sinks. He crooks a finger and shifts so his legs fall open and Andrés has never moved so fast in his life.

“Fuck,” Martín says when Andrés crashes into him, arms wrapping around his waist.

Martín groans and hooks his legs around Andrés, ankles crossing in the small of his back. Andrés kisses his neck and reaches up to unbutton the few buttons on Martín’s shirt that weren’t already open. Martín tries to help him along, then frowns when he sees Andrés’ hand.

“Wait,” he says, a little breathlessly. “Andrés you’ve got blood on you.”

Andrés shrugs. “Your guy had sharp teeth and I forgot how much punching someone hurts.”

Martín grabs Andrés’ injured hand in his and looks at the blood trickling down his fingers from his knuckles.

“This is yours?” he asks and Andrés nods, fixated on how Martín is staring at the tiny rivulets of red running down his hand.

Martín shifts and turns on the tap in the sink closest to him, then guides Andrés’ hand under it, pressing a kiss to his cheek when Andrés’ damaged knuckles are in the cold water.

“Better?” he asks after a couple of minutes.

Andrés nods and pulls his hand out from under the stream, shaking off most of the water. Martín takes another look and grins at Andrés, before licking the excess droplets of water off Andrés’ skin. Andrés’ gut clenches even more when a tiny dribble of blood escapes from the cut and Martín licks that up too.

“Come here,” he demands, before dragging Martín into another kiss, this one tasting of copper and salt.

He moves one hand to Martín’s hips to pull him closer, while the other finally succeeds in ripping his shirt open. He bites at Martín’s collarbone, smirking against the smooth skin there when Martín groans. Martín’s hands struggle with Andrés’ belt – if he didn’t know any better, he’d say they’re shaking – but he manages to get it undone and his trousers unzipped while Andrés is still busy biting and sucking bruises into the evenly tanned skin of his neck and chest.

“Why don’t you just write your name,” Martín complains half-heartedly as he fumbles with his own fly.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t like that,” Andrés teases and Martín protests only until Andrés manages to get a hand around both of them.

Neither of them last long, they’re both too wound up and frantic for that.

“At least clean-up is easy,” Martín laughs into Andrés’ neck as he washes his hand and then fumbles for some tissues for Martín.

Andrés rolls his eyes, but kisses Martín as he wipes at his bare stomach.

“We’re doing that again,” he says and Martín smirks. “In a bed, not a bathroom.”

Martín shrugs. “I’ve been in worse places.”

“I know,” Andrés scowls, reaching out to press gently at one of the bruises on Martín’s chest.

Martín smacks his hand away and slides off the counter, shrugging into his shirt.

“I look like a Dalmatian,” he says and Andrés smirks, helping him button up again.

-

They leave the bathroom, nodding at the attendant who dutifully doesn’t meet their eyes, and stumble their way back up to the main club, hand in hand.

They’re immediately assaulted by the noise and they shove their way through the crowd to get back to the booth where most of the others are sitting. Andrés can’t stop from smirking when he sits down and Martín just plants himself in his lap.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nairobi says when she sees them. “Palermo, you couldn’t have fucked that other guy instead of Berlin?”

Raquel looks equally upset, but Manila just cackles as she rakes the pile of cash over to where she’s sitting.

“Told you, he wasn’t Palermo’s type,” she says smugly.

“What the fuck is going on?” Martín demands, twisting to look at Andrés.

He shrugs. “I have no idea, mi amor.”

Manila smirks at him from behind Martín’s shoulder and he rolls his eyes. Maybe he should get her some jewellery the next time he sees something nice – then again she can get it herself with how much money she’d just won.

Martín settles back against his chest and Andrés tightens his grip on him. At the table next to them, a woman glances over at Martín, then very quickly looks away again when she makes eye contact with Andrés. Andrés smirks into the back of Martín’s shirt and looks forward to being able to leave this fucking club.

**Author's Note:**

> look, andrés is a bastard man and that's all i have to say
> 
> also 20K baht is like... 550 euros in case anyone wanted to know
> 
> if you liked it maybe consider leaving kudos/comments or come scream at me on tumblr ([@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)) or twitter ([@angstypalermo](https://twitter.com/angstypalermo)) if you like


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